


Speak in Tongues

by lucythemermaid



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: CMBYN - Freeform, Call me by your name, Gay Sex, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Masturbation, Power Dynamics, Power Play, Praise Kink, RPF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-29
Updated: 2018-08-02
Packaged: 2019-05-30 11:27:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15095762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucythemermaid/pseuds/lucythemermaid
Summary: Everyone knows Timmy as the articulate one, well-read and intelligent who amazes the press with the depth of his vocabulary and his charming character.Armie Hammer is not a stranger to the effect of Timmy's words. Only he's never admitted just how mesmerized he is by his co-stars speech, his way with words. And just how much of a turn-on Timmy's voice can be.Title comes from Placebo's song, Speak in Tongues.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ihighlydoubtthat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ihighlydoubtthat/gifts).



Timmy was known in the press as articulate and well-spoken. Eloquent and considered, like every word he verbalised was rehearsed and thought-out. Armie had sat beside him more times than he could count as they spoke to journalists, yet he was forever surprised at the depth of Timmy’s vocabulary; the consideration of his words. Armie was over ten years his senior, yet Timmy put him to shame half the damn time. The amount of times ‘what he said’ would’ve sufficed as an answer, for Timmy’s words spoke for them both.

Armie only registered the intense effect of Timmy’s vocabulary months later. Of course, it was a new kink. Some unexplored part of himself that he’d never recognised with other partners. Of course, it was Timmy that had that affect on him. _Of course._ Yet Armie couldn’t help feeling a sense of shame at the response, somewhat involuntary, that arose whenever Timmy so much as opened his mouth in the bedroom. Timmy’s mouth, a deep pink which looked almost unnatural in tone against his alabaster skin. His way with words, the depth of his sentences, the passion in his eyes when he was enthusiastic about a subject. From the moment their eyes had locked, Armie longed for Timmy’s voice to speak obscenities, with him as the target of his speech.

Sure, Armie was a regular with dirty-talk as much as the next person. Only with Timmy, it felt like some prize he had to earn or retrieve. Timmy was inexperienced in this area, didn’t understand his physical appeal, let alone how his speech alone could send uncomfortable traces down Armie’s spine to his groin, like the scraping of a needle against the skin.

“Beer?” Timmy asked as if he were addressing the refrigerator, his gaze having shifted from Armie entirely since they’d entered Timmy’s apartment. He looked uncomfortable, sensing Armie’s eyes gripping him in their stare without needing to look. Suddenly, the proximity felt too close, the walls insular and suffocating. Armie had hardly said a word to him all afternoon and the anxiety sat in Timmy’s stomach with constant twinges of nausea. _This was so unlike them._

Armie hummed in response, his eyes directed to his phone.

“A please wouldn’t hurt.” Timmy muttered shortly with a grimace, grabbing a bottle opener and slamming the drawer deliberately. To anyone else, the manner would have een nothing other than carelessness. An accident. Only Timmy wasn’t careless. He practically perspired grace, it oozed from his fingertips and greeted every object with delicacy and tenderness. Armie reacted to the uncomfortable sound with a jolt, knowing the intrusion to their silence was planned. He knew Timmy.

“Wha-” Armie started, wide-eyed, now holding Timmy’s gaze.

“You going to tell me what the fuck is up with you?” Timmy snapped. He’d planned for it to sound pissed off and authoritative. To sting Armie’s pride and conjure some force-field out of thin air to barricade the two of them. Only his voice dipped, his diction stuttered. Had he continued spluttering expletives at him like arrows to his chest, he’d have soaked his cheeks in the process. He scoffed at his emotion, his inability to remain contained and his childishness. Always the one to cry when all he wanted was to stand his ground for once. His reaction made the age gap all the more prominent, in his mind at least. Something he was conscious of only in these instances. Fucking typical.

Armie gulped, swallowing fiercely and regretting it instantly. The lump in his throat burned and trying to rectify the dryness felt like the ripping of bandages; air to an open wound. He coughed, seeking any means of steadying his speech like some inaudible cry for help.

“How do you always know what to say?”

Timmy furrowed his brows with disillusion, stirring an aching sensation that rested in his temples.

“I’m confused. To say when?” As he spoke, he began to bridge the gap between them. He stood in the centre of the room beneath the lightshade, facing Armie who remained on the sofa. He sat like he was about to leave, his back slumped forward as if the sofa’s cushions or back-rest didn’t exist. The kind of posture his Mother would criticise.

“All the time. Press stuff, conferences, interviews. I just… I feel inadequate around you. I may as well sit in silence and nod for hours on end.”

Timmy rolled his eyes and scoffed, a smirk playing on his lips. “I think you’d have trouble being quiet for five minutes…”

“I’m serious, Tim.” Armie protested, like a spoiled child who felt unheard. His fists were clenched, his knuckles gleaming alabaster under the sunlight’s intrusion through the blinds.    

Timmy looked towards the floor, dismissing Armie’s gaze. When Armie used _that_ voice, stern and harsh, Timmy’s cheeks flushed an inevitable crimson. Armie knew this. Some form of power-play, as if to accentuate their differences. Timmy often criticised those who commented on their age gap, known as _Hammer’s younger co-star_. Only, this pet-peeve was subjective. When Armie spoke down to him, reduced him to the younger, foolish, inexperienced character in the room, grateful was an understatement for how Timmy perceived his youth. Like candle-wax, Armie’s flame melted Timmy’s maturity, his attempted authority, his control. His voice spoke to Timmy’s groin more than his mind.

“How do you always know what to say? How to verbalise what you’re feeling? All I say is the same shit, _‘Crema was amazing. Greatest experience of my life.’_ You’re there, using these words, these anecdotes, this passion in your speech that leaves listeners falling to their knees,” he looked up, grasping Timmy’s eyes with his own. “I guess I just feel inadequate most of the time.”

Timmy looked up like Armie’s words were blasphemous, widened pupils, furrowed brows. He scoffed in disbelief. Armie Hammer and Inadequate were the furthest from synonymous.

 “Armie, seriously? You’re… _threatened_ by _me_?” His speech was slurred, as if his thoughts and voice were out of time.

Armie couldn’t meet Timmy’s gaze, his eyes resting on his hands in his lap, now intertwined as if he were holding someone else’s for reassurance. He could feel Timmy staring, out of concern maybe, or to ridicule him at his sensitivity.

“It’s not that. I’m not threatened. In awe perhaps.”

Timmy couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Armie Hammer. The man he sat on the largest fucking pedestal, the man he wanted in every capacity. Wanted to be, wanted to fuck, wanted to hold so tightly that their bodies meshed into one another as a single entity. Wanted to love more so strongly, so deeply, that it consumed him. Yet, the man in front him was lost for words because of _him._ Timmy moved him that much, it stunned him.

“There’s something else.”

Timmy scoffed and rolled his eyes, trying to lighten the mood, to open the window to the atmosphere’s intensity that was suffocating the two of them.

“Wha-”

“It’s a huge fucking turn-on too.” Armie could feel his cheeks flush, a burning underneath the skin like some internal erosion. He looked up to Timmy’s eyes interlocking with his own, his stare so intense ut simultaneously so ambiguous that he struggled to decode it. Usually, he knew Timmy inside out, as if his thoughts, his internal monologue, were for one reader alone, and he was granted that privilege. Only Timmy’s face was unrecognisable, a canvas of empty eyes and parted lips.

“Oh?”

Armie gulped intently. He’d fucked it up now. Was now the time to talk about the weather?

“Well, we’ll need to do something about that,”

Timmy strode towards Armie, towering above him which was the rarest of occurrences. He stood an inch from Armie’s knees, Armie wide-eyed in simultaneous anticipation and budding anxiety.

Then Timmy took two steps ack, with a smirk playing on his lips like it belonged there permanently. As much as Timmy appreciated submission, never complained in being pinned down by Armie’s heavy hands and weight smouldering him like a vacuum with depleted air source, having this control satisfied a prospect inside of him, a potentiality that he’d never explored. Armie now below him and helpless to the sound of him, defenceless to his word.

“Pull down your pants.”

Armie blinked, startled at the sharpness of Timmy’s tone which ignited the hairs of his forearms like electricity. He felt uneasy, an unfamiliar feeling sitting comfortably in his gut. Yet, that discomfort was fused with excitement. He swallowed harshly, trying to soak the dryness of his throat, and undid his belt buckle harshly. Desperate to please.

“You’re going to do exactly what I ask of you. Do you understand?”

Armie nodded, as if words were something only Timmy was entitled to.

“I want you to touch yourself to the sound of my voice. I’m going to guide you through it. No touching me, no complaints, not a word from your mouth. _Comprende_?”

Armie’s cock twinged at the dictatorial tenor ringing in his ears, the denim of his jeans now agitating his crotch. Timmy but not. The man he knew, and someone unfamiliar.

“Pants off, Armie. Let me see you.”

Armie opened his mouth, an incoherent murmur released from his lips like some involuntary protest that spoke for his subconscious, what he stood for. He wasn’t used to this, this wasn’t him, he wasn’t someone to listen to instructions. Only Timmy’s voice had eroded every effort to keepsake his dignity. _Take it, it’s yours._

Armie’s trousers now sat around his ankles.

“Good boy,” Timmy flashed a satisfied smile of reassurance.

_“Now let me watch you come.”_


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the late update, guys, I've really struggled writing wise for a while! I hope this is okay, prepare for the main event in Chapter 3. ;)

“Tim,” Armie scoffed with embarrassment, one hand cupping his groin and the palm of his other wiping the sweat from his brow. Yes, he was tur ned on, undoubtedly so. Only Tim being out of arm’s reach felt out of routine.  _ Wrong. _ Unfair. Anyone would think Armie was used to the attention on him, the attraction of a room, the centre-piece to any exhibit. Only now, all Armie wanted was to clutch Timmy by the waist and pull him into his lap. His request, his confession, felt ridiculous and he wanted it rewritten. Sure, Timmy’s voice left him famished with lust. But he felt ashamed. What if he changed his mind? _ ‘Actually, I’d rather just fuck like we usually do.’ _

_ How pathetic would that sound? _

 

Timmy’s lip turned upward just-enough. He smirked but not in effort to ridicule Armie. He could sense his discomfort, embarrassment at his request, and enjoying the situation could easily be perceived as mocking him. Timmy wanted Armie to feel confident in his performance.

“You look fucking hot.” Timmy’s voice was direct and  bordering on stern , as if to re-establish roles that were unfamiliar to the two of them.  It’s difficult to reassure when feeling just as out of your depth. Roles reversed, Timmy was never the observer, never on higher ground. Armie’s  height aside, Timmy was the submissive as if by nature, wearing the gentle nuances if his form like a bespoke suit of his temperament. His body's subtle curves, the delicacy of his skin that would bruise at the lightest touch. As fragile as he was comfortable for them to be controlled by a firmer hand. Armie’s firmer hand. Only today his frame and the role he so often fulfilled, what he was used to, remained untouched. I nstead, Timmy sank into some newfound alter-ego, a facade. Oscar-worthy, the voice and words that the press went crazy for. The voice and words that  _ Armie _ went crazy for. 

Eyes fused with his spectator, awaiting commands like he were delivering some kind of service, Armie rearranged the cotton of his  b oxers; the material now straining his crotch. Timmy’s stare alone, his lips throbbing crimso n from biting them, pursed in a smug smile, made his cock twinge. He gulped, pulling at the grey cotton clasping his shaft uncomfortably. 

Still stood, unreachable, across from the sofa, Timmy’s fingers lingered against the prominent vein of his neck. The alabaster column of his throat traced by his delicate touch. Armie’s pupils widened, craving that touch on his own skin. Instead, he felt it  _ through _ Timmy. His skin. Our ski n.

This role reversal confused him. He wanted to grasp Timmy’s throat, replacing those fingers with his own. He also wanted Timmy’s touch to consume him, tattoo his skin with every fingertip. He sat, awestruck, watching Timmy’s fingers as if he were conducting a piano as they travelled to the collar of his shirt. He undid the top two  b uttons for his collar b one to shine visi b le under the sunlight’s intrusive glow. An outward  b reath escaped Armie’s lips.

“You ca n watch, that’s all.” Timmy muttered with his intense stare. His lip trembled slightly, awkward laughter trying to reach the surface but captured just in time. He unbuttoned his shirt fully. Hairless chest like silk, carved like a sculpture. 

Armie  was now naked from the waist down.

“Talk to me, Tim.”

Timmy raised an eyebrow, his mouth straight and unprovoked. “You’re going to have to try a bit harder than that.”

“Talk to me,” Armie’s voice had risen in pitch, some untamed desperation that surprised him. “ _ Please _ .”

“That’s more like it. Manners, Hammer.” Timmy began treating the whole thing, whatever it was, like acting. Wearing a costume, playing the part. 

Armie relaxed in to the sofa, eyes glistening with child-like anticipation. His groin twitching with ravenous impatience. 

“Am I allowed to -” Armie began, his hand lingering near his cock. The urge to stroke himself, that release after waiting was  _ painful _ , only he needed Timmy’s permission. 

“The thing is, Armie,” Timmy murmured, voice like silk, each word enunciated flawlessly. “As much as standing here, all dominating and distant is clearly a fantasy of yours, it’s also not  _ quite  _ my style.”

“Mm?”

Timmy shuffled forward one step. Armie exhaled. Eyes watering from forgetting to  blink.  _ Forgetting to blink. _ Since when did involuntary, human responses require thought? How did this man, this scrawny yet majestic creature of a man have this affect? If he knew better, he’d laugh at himself. 

“You, sat there in anticipation,” Timmy slurred, his head tilted slightly in exaggerated observation. “Cock throbbing, feet arched, breath unsteady.”

Timmy was now stood close enough to reach out and touch.

“I want to fuck myself on your cock Armie,” Timmy announced, matter-of-factly, as if he were merely stating the date. “You’re to sit there, not to move, arms at your sides.”

Armie opened his mouth in protest, wide-eyed in disbelief. Was Tim messing with him? 

“I get what I want, using you to my advantage,” Timmy’s eyes glistened hungrily. “And you get to watch me.”

“How am I su-”

“Patience Hammer,” Timmy smirked, unbuttoning his jeans. 

“I’ll let you come once I’ve had enough.”

**Author's Note:**

> More to come very soon, gang. ;)  
> I'm wantedyoutoknow on Tumblr. xo


End file.
